2. Roll For Surrender #2
Fingers stay inside me, gently massaging, while his mouth roams back up my body.
“Cami, sweetheart,” he begins, brushing my hair back from my face. “I had very different plans from this for my first time with you, but this… this is fucking perfect.”
He kisses me deeply and then meets my eyes again.
“Still green?” he asks quietly
I nod and quietly answer, “Yes, still green.”
He smiles and kisses me quickly. Then he stands and finally frees his cock as he pulls down his boxer briefs.
I take him in. He’s not circumcised, which is new to me. When I trail my eyes up his body and meet his, he smirks at me, like he knows I was checking out his cock.
He strokes himself as he makes his way to the bed.
“Very different?” I ask with a smile.
Gentle fingers brush my cheek as his eyes trail down my body and then back to my eyes.
“Yes, and we’ll do that, too,” he promises. “But tonight, this can be more… vanilla.”
A snicker escapes me. “As you have my hands tied to your headboard…”
“That’s as vanilla as I get, Sweetheart.”
The smile on his face is almost wicked before his mouth drops down to kiss my neck again.
“This will also be a lot faster than the plans I had in my mind,” he admits. “But still perfect.”
Fingers start teasing my clit and entrance again. They’re gentle and explorative—he isn’t trying to make me come right now—he’s just feeling me.
His kisses continue down my neck, and again, he pauses and focuses on spots when my hips rise to meet his hand. I can feel him smile against my skin when he is pleased with my reactions.
Then, very suddenly, he separates my thighs and settles between them on his knees.
My entire body tightens with the need for him.
And that part catches me off guard.
I’ve wanted men before. Fuck I’ve wanted this man before. I’ve been horny enough to make objectively terrible decisions and enjoyed every second of them.
But this isn’t just that.
Ronan has been standing in the center of everything for months—watching, guiding, orchestrating, touching just enough to make me desperate before stepping away again.
And now he’s here.
Finally, with me.
No basement. No audience. No one else between us.
Just him.
Stroking his cock first, he runs the head down the seam of my pussy. I watch him, but his eyes are focused on the motion. He inhales sharply through his teeth the second time he does it.
Then his eyes look back up to me.
“Fuck, Cami,” he breathes. “Still green?”
“So fucking green,” I manage to answer, my voice almost unrecognizable for how breathy it is.
How is it that after every hot and filthy thing I’ve done with Dex and Micah, after everything Ronan orchestrated in the basement, this is the thing that feels obscene in its intimacy?
Me on my back.
Him between my thighs.
His eyes on mine.
Nothing between us anymore.
Maybe that’s exactly why.
As if Ronan is feeling the same thing, he leans over me, bracing himself with a forearm near my face.
His other hand positions the head of his cock at my entrance, and then he kisses me deeply as he pushes into me.
I whimper into the kiss, and he grunts quietly.
Then he stops.
Completely.
For a few breaths, neither of us moves.
He breaks the kiss and looks at me, and something about his expression hits harder than anything we’ve done tonight.
I’m here.
Really here.
I smile before I can help it.
His mouth softens, and then his lips are back on mine as he starts moving.
The hand not bracing his weight off of me grips my upper thigh right near my hip, keeping me from moving up the bed as his tongue continues to explore my mouth in the same rhythm as his thrusts.
Eventually he breaks the kiss, and perches on his knees back between my thighs.
“Tell me what you need, sweetheart,” he says softly.
What do I need?
You. Obviously.
My brows pull together, but before I can say something sassy, he lifts my hips and changes the angle of his next thrust.
Oh.
That’s what he means.
He tries another. Then another.
The fourth one makes the answer rip out of me.
“Fuck—right there,” I manage to rasp as my hands pull against the ties.
He holds us in that position, and keeps moving.
My moans get louder and louder.
My fingers grip at the ties, squeezing the only thing I can reach as my nails dig into the palms of my hands.
When I fall over that edge, my throat closes around the loudest sound—some silly part of me still trying to contain myself even now.
“Fuck, sweetheart,” he says, but he continues to fuck me through it until my body stops convulsing.
Then, he moves back over me—covering my body with his—and kisses me again.
His mouth drops to my neck as he curses, and I hear something I’ve almost never heard from Ronan—his control fracture.
A curse against my skin. A rough, helpless sound swallowed against my shoulder. His whole body goes rigid over mine before his weight trembles against me.
And fuck, maybe I’m greedy, but feeling him lose control might be almost as good as losing mine.
We just lie there for a few breaths before he kisses me softly again.
“Still green?” He whispers the question.
I nod. “Yeah,” I barely breathe out, “very.”
“Good,” he responds, then kisses my forehead softly before climbing off of me and off the bed.
He goes straight to the bathroom, and I hear the water running. Before he reappears with a damp washcloth, I already know what he’s doing.
The bathroom faucet turns on.
I smile before he even comes back.
Ronan has talked about aftercare enough that I could probably teach a seminar on it by now.
He cleans me gently before tossing the cloth in the hamper by his closet.
Then, he pulls his boxer briefs on before moving toward me again.
Carefully, but quickly, he unties the tie attaching my hands to the headboard, and then he starts on the one actually tied around my wrists.
When he frees me, he examines both wrists before pressing a kiss to the tender skin of each one before he leaves me again to grab my clothes.
He doesn’t put all of them on me, just my shirt and my underwear, which is fine.
When he’s done, his fingers trail through my hair, and he kisses me softly.
And, as ordered before, I keep my hands to myself.
He breaks the kiss, and suddenly the question on my tongue feels infinitely more vulnerable than walking into his room and throwing myself at him.
“Can I stay?” My voice comes out quieter than I expect. “Can I stay in here with you tonight?”
His throat bobs, but his eyes don’t leave mine. “Yeah, sweetheart, you can stay.” He presses a gentle kiss to my forehead. “We should talk too.”
Laughing softly first, I admit, “I’m probably more capable of talking now than I was before.”
One corner of his mouth lifts. “That was part of my theory.”